


We're getting too old for this

by Malicei



Series: The Trans-Canadian Highway Universe [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Companion Piece, FrUK, Getting Together, M/M, They're just as silly as each other, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malicei/pseuds/Malicei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FRUK. Human AU. Companion piece to The Trans-Canadian Highway.</p><p>Focuses on the beginning of Arthur's and Francis' relationship and dealing with their pasts as they try to make a future for themselves.</p><p>'…What are you babbling about now, Frog? I know I have a mean right hook, but surely I didn’t give you a hard enough knock for you to start talking nonsense.”<br/>Arthur, the Englishman he’d been cursing out a second before, stood in the doorway with a packet of frozen peas.<br/>Francis couldn’t help grinning, clutching the hand not holding onto his nose to his chest dramatically. “Oh, Baby, I didn’t know you cared! In fact, your tender care is so good that I was only speaking sweetly about you in my mother tongue!”'</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're getting too old for this

**Author's Note:**

> This piece continues off from a few chapters in of The Trans-Canadian Highway, and is mainly intended to fill in parts of their part of the story that I didn't think was relevant to the main story.
> 
> Poor Matt-Matt doesn't need to be overshadowed on his own story! XD

_Today is a day for good wine, and too much drinking,_ Francis thinks, holding his nose gingerly as the bleeding slowed. _Damn that Englishman! Punching my beautiful face! I hope my nose will heal properly, I’m not a young man anymore._

Though Francis hates to think about it, he’s not so young anymore. Sure, he’s been blessed with fantastic genetics which have contributed to his incredibly stunning good looks ( _only that stupid Englishman would disagree, and he doesn’t count because he clearly has no taste!_ Francis thought) and doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.

Still, as youthful as he looks, he wasn’t born yesterday. One day he will die, and what will he have contributed to the world?

Taking a sip of wine stolen from the Englishman’s (Arthur?) cupboards, he lets out a bitter laugh without thinking. _What does it say, when I can’t easily think of an answer? Probably the most I could add to the world is a string of broken hearts and a bastard child or two._

It’s certainly true that he gets called a womaniser or man-whore a lot. _It’s not his fault,_ he tries to reassure himself miserably. He can’t help it that he loves so easily. There are so many people deserving of love, he despairs, _but even I cannot be that person for everyone._

He’s long accepted this truth about himself.

Still, after so many years of his free-loving ways, he’s surprised to realise he’s lonely.

 _What? Francis, the man who goes through lovers like clean underwear, lonely? How could this be?_ You might ask. _Surely, even as he gets on in the years, surely someone as great as he would only evolve into a sugar-daddy?_

No, surprisingly. He has always had great taste, but already he’s starting to become an old man when it comes to these things. No longer is it picking up girls at clubs every night for one night stands, Francis has gotten to the point of wining and dining and an entire week dedicated to love before he and his lover part ways amiably.

This is how he’s always preferred it, but now he’s starting to slow down. Francis is a romantic at heart, and finds the prospect of finding someone to be with on a permanent basis and settling down an appealing one.

It would have shocked his younger self to see him now. Back then, young and passionate and angry with the world _(he did sometimes find he missed the angry sex, if nothing else),_ he had been scared of commitment. _And what a coward I was_ , he thinks bittersweetly. _Too scared to commit to anything until it was too late, too late for their relationship, too late for Jeanne._

He’s never quite forgotten her.

Back then women had not been allowed on the front lines, but that had never stopped Jeanne. She’d been the type who claimed she would never stop until she was dead.

He hated that she had to be right, but even her fierce spirit which he’d thought once could never be stifled has been quieted down in his mind. He’s moved on without her, he realises, and _what the hell is he supposed to think about that that?_

What the hell does he have now? A list of past lovers on enough paper that trees should start crying as he walks past them?  Enough broken hearts that not even the best heart surgeon in the world could fix them all?

He doesn’t even have his own name anymore. After so many years on the run after his conviction of rape despite his innocence, he can’t even be himself anymore. Even though he was proven innocent after his faked death, he knows all too well that even a false rape accusation will ruin lives.

So who is he, if not Francis Bonnefoy, world class lover and sexiest man alive?

...

...

...Funny. He’s not sure.

_…Ah, well. Does it matter?_

He downs the rest of the bottle, not caring about how unclassy it made him look and cursing out the cruelty of Englishmen and French women alike.

“…What are you babbling about now, Frog? I know I have a mean right hook, but surely I didn’t give you a hard enough knock for you to start talking nonsense.”

Arthur, the Englishman he’d been cursing out a second before, stood in the doorway with a packet of frozen peas. Despite his words ( _So cruel!_ Francis thought. _No sympathy for my deep, deep pain!),_ he looked genuinely concerned.

Francis couldn’t help grinning, clutching the hand not holding onto his nose to his chest dramatically. “Oh, Baby, I didn’t know you cared! In fact, your tender care is so good that I was only speaking sweetly about you in my mother tongue!”

Arthur’s eye twitched and for a second Francis thought the man was going to try and punch him again, but then Arthur froze. “You-you idiot!” Arthur screeched, stricken. “You should’ve told me your mouth was bleeding!”

_Was it?_

He lifted his hand to his lips to confirm that _yes, it was._

 _Well._ “Nothing you can really do except kiss it better, no?”

_Oh, it was so much fun to wind the stiff little Englishman up. Even if happened to hurt. A lot._

“…You’re goddamn lucky I’d feel bad about punching someone I already accidentally injured.” Arthur growls, but there was no actual threat in it. _Just a cute little kitten trying to pretend it’s bigger than it is._ “Shut up and take the peas. Wait, did you just drink all my wine, you French wine-guzzling bastard?!”

“Oh, you finally noticed? I needed something to dull this terrible pain you inflicted on me, and you were taking soooo long! I thought maybe you had forgotten my poor, injured heart!”

Arthur clenched his hands, bristling but aware of the fact he couldn’t really say anything to that without coming off as a bigger asshole than he had already had.

“Ohohoho, did you _want_ some?”

That seemed to have been too much for Arthur to ignore. “As a matter of fact, I did, actually. You could’ve _asked._ I don’t know what it’s like in France, but generally people _ask_ before taking all their bloody wine!”

Francis laughed as he winked painfully. “Well, my mouth still tastes like it, so if you want it so desperately you can have a taste, if you like!”

Arthur groaned and deflated as he was reminded of Francis’ injured state. “ _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ Shut up and rest so I can work.”

_Hm…Maybe he could get away with one more comment?_

“You would leave me all alone, in this cold, empty bed of yours?” Francis managed to whine pathetically.

That elicited a scowl. “I’ll turn the bloody heater on, then. Happy?”

“I am still soooo aloneee, all by myself-“

Francis was slapped in the face by a flying teddy bear. He stared at it, then grinned. “Is this yours?!”

Arthur turned bright, bright red. “Shut your fucking face.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Piss off.”

“Eh? I’m not interested in golden showers but I’m sure we can come to an agreement if that’s what you like-“

Francis was answered only by the sound of the bedroom door slamming and then, a few seconds later, a scream of pure frustration from behind it.

Huh.

Francis beamed (ow!) , petted the teddy bear _(That was adorable, a man his age still keeping a teddy bear!)_ and fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

How the _fuck_ did a man his age manage to look downright adorable all cuddled up to _his_ teddy bear like that, on _his_ fucking bed?

 _It was a mystery for the ages,_ Arthur decided.

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur's feeling too guilty to really snark back as much, but rest assured, mutual teasing and taking the piss out of the other shall occur!


End file.
